jeudi 20 février 2014

(The French version of this post is actually a bit longer... when I translated it from the English, I found I had more things to say. And there are more pictures, including a drawing of a tree that looks a bit like Pina Bausch to me :o)One of my
favourite aspects of living in Montreal (along with its truly welcoming personality) is
that each of its four seasons allows you to travel in space, as well as in
time.

Icy stars floating on the grass.

Spring, for instance, visits us briefly during the first two weeks of May – until then all the trees are still bare – and it is bewitching in a way that I have never experienced in Europe. It takes you to a kind of
Lórien where Maple trees rule the city, overwhelming the streets with fragrant bouquets of tiny, yellow-green flowers.

You can almost see them opening up.

Montreal
summers are tropical in many ways, including the relaxed atmosphere, and the
fact that even a single sheet is too warm on your skin at night, with windows
wide open. Then as soon as mid-September (usually), autumn brings a
mountain-like quality to the air and light; warm, golden afternoons alternate
with crisp, clear nights.

This radiance of bright-coloured leaves is quite ephemeral and dream-like, too.

In winter,
it’s like Scandinavia here (everybody’s sliding, cross-country skiing, skating
or snowshoeing, even in the heart of the city), except we get as many hours of
daylight as people in Bordeaux, France, being on the same latitude. Which is
nice, particularly when the sky is such a deep blue, and temperature regularly
drops to - 22 C several days in a row, usually with a - 28 C wind chill (- 18
F).

Mont-Royal Cemetery.

I have been
attracted to Scandinavian countries – winters, summers, spirit, and languages included – since I
was maybe twelve or so... Walking through wide expanses of glimmering snow, or
even seeing skaters in every park, still feels to me like traveling to a lovely
foreign place.

In Parc Lafontaine.

Even at
home, since I can’t afford to heat much, I layer woollen sweaters and skirts in a
Scandinavian kind of outfit, complete with striped socks, mittlets, and knitted pointed hat :o)

In a Swedish garden...

Love this little cape.

By mid-February, however, I often find myself longing for summer, as I long for a friend I haven’t
seen in months, and miss dearly. I need to be hugged by the warm wind, I want
to offer my bare legs and shoulders to its touch, and to ride my bike
everywhere.

Ink on paper.

Also, I
miss my friends the trees – whose crown is revealed in intricate detail on the
winter sky – because I can’t have my usual happy conversations with them. Half asleep, they are patiently enduring the cold and stillness.

Roots criss-crossing on the surface: a common sight in Montreal parks.

But the simple sight of these hundreds of Maple buds-in-waiting, right there in the middle of winter, makes me sigh with gratitude, and a secret pleasure.

On the Mont-Royal.

I guess my
favourite time of the year is June, when everything is still blooming and
pulsing with joy; the days extend well into the evening, and the evenings are
so soft that they make you cry. And yet, it is very
frustrating to have other obligations – like working and sleeping –
distracting me from this pure bliss.

And don't even get me started on Peonies.

So I find that I am
most creative and balanced in September… Maybe because it's my birthday month :o)

Do seasons
affect you a lot, in a positive or negative way? Which is your favourite one?

jeudi 6 février 2014

My early beginnings
in the art of the portrait were not very promising.

This could be me at 6 or so... not what I was drawing at the time, though.

As a child,
I used to draw faces in the margins of my exercise books all the time
(particularly at school). I was not thinking of a person or character; it was a
form of doodling in which my pencil would follow an imaginary profile - or a
pair of eyes, a nose, a mouth.

Even if all
these elements turned out to be nicely balanced, I often failed in the final
step: drawing the elusive line going from the temples and cheekbones to the
chin. Or the actual shape of the hair around the head. When I did try, the
result was always awkward and strangely empty.

The trouble
was – as I realize now, writing this post – that I was visualizing faces in two
dimensions. My (subconscious) models were the illustrations from the
picture books and novels I was reading at the time. It never occurred to me
that I could look at my teachers or classmates for chin or cheekbones information
:o)

French actress Judith Godrèche, by Paolo Roversi.

There was
an interesting twist on this during my teens, when my inspiration came from
photos in the magazines. I was not looking for it there: it simply found me.
Once in a while, a particular face would call me from the page, and I knew I
had to make a drawing out of it.

At the time
I worked with a HB or B pencil (my eraser was involved a lot), and my portraits
were very realistic: they revealed the shapes and the shadows, the reflections
in the eyes, the glow on the skin. I would spend hours on each one, as in a
trance. There was a real face coming up on the paper, through my own pencil! If
I was careful enough.

I had to be
passionate, perseverant, precise - and careful.

Yet, my drawing
always stemmed from a picture, and was limited by this. If the photo left a
part of the head out of the frame, I could not integrate it to my portrait in a
satisfying way.

She was on the cover of a catalogue.

So I was
convinced that I would never be able to draw from memory, or even from a real
person in front of me. And therefore, obviously, I could not be an illustrator.
Too bad if it was the one career that had ever attracted me.

One evening
though, my youngest brother, Benoît, who was around 10 at the time, was reading a book
in the sofa. Nobody was watching me: I actually sketched his portrait, without
being precise or careful. Instead, my drawing was intuitive, focused and calm.
To my surprise, the result was not only (for once) natural and free – it was
totally him.

I couldn't find that early drawing, so instead here is my other brother, Matthieu.I made this portrait in Montréal a few years ago, partly from memory (I wanted to capture his teenager self) and partly from a picture of him as an adult.

However, I was
scared by the implications of this – what if I could draw from life after all? ...
But what if I Let My Hopes Grow, only to find out that I was Not Good Enough? –
so I put the portrait away, and did not try again. (Sounds familiar to some of
you?)

Then, I
reached another interesting stage: exploring the outside world with photography.
Somehow, having this black metal box in my hands, and being able to look at my
surroundings through the lens (I had purchased a second-hand Minolta X-300s)
allowed me to behave in a bolder way that my usual shy self would.

At the time,
I found it very difficult to look back at strangers, let alone talk to them. But
I did ask several girls if they would agree to pose for me, including Alison, a
beautiful woman I met in the streets of Paris. She turned out to be an American
actress and artist, based in New York city and in love with Paris, where she
stayed regularly. I wish I could remember her full name…

Beautiful Alison. I met her again in Montréal years later, by pure chance - she was sitting for a few minutes, eyes closed, in an armchair, in the very bookstore where I was working at the time. I recognized her instantly, and she remembered me quite well.

They were
all black and white portraits, printed on Ilford paper in my kitchen/darkroom.
Again, I would observe these faces with awe as they emerged from the pale
paper; but now my perception was getting closer to the presence of each person,
even if I was still (at least consciously) working primarily with light and
shadow, and looking for a landscape in the curves of the cheekbones, the line of the eyebrows.

When I saw this little girl in the post office, I just had to ask her mother if she would pose for me. It took the pictures a few days later, in a garden.

Big changes
happened in my life soon after that, so the next stage takes place in
Montréal, where I was able to be myself at last, but also much more at ease with
everybody else, and in touch again with my childhood dreams and hopes. So I
registered in Life Drawing classes, and discovered that I was pretty good at
it!

How
liberating, thrilling and rewarding to see a body, a face, a posture appear on
my big white page, this time in a very free, focused and inspired way, sometimes
in a few minutes. They were literally unraveling
themselves through my hand. It was pure magic.

Here is to
you, Mr. Doubt and Mrs. What-If ;o)

15 minutes sketch. This guy was a particularly good model, for some reason.

Since then,
I have been drawing people (unbeknownst to them) in my small notebook, mostly
in trains where everybody is reading or looking outside. I have recently
started a portrait project for an exhibition, involving strangers. And – thanks Rachel for your encouragements – I am also offering my services as a
portraitist.

More on this in the next related post, dear readers :o)

PS - An additional selection of drawings and pictures can be seen in the French version.

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